


Captured!

by hellraisin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bickering, Drunk!Oghren, Gen, Morrigan is cruel as always, Rescue Mission, Wynne is a mother hen, Zevran is a flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellraisin/pseuds/hellraisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Warden and Alistair are captured during Queen Anora's rescue, it is up to their faithful companions to decide who will go to their rescue. However, it seems that reaching a decision is much more difficult than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured!

Oghren is sprawled on a chaise longue in one of the rooms at Arl Eamon’s estate, surrounded by his fellow party members. He is working his way through a keg of Wilhelm’s Special Brew, easily on his third or fourth tankard, and he is seemingly oblivious to the cold glares he is receiving from the golem in the corner of the room. “It doesn’t make any sodding sense,” the dwarf slurs,  “why _they_ get to go off having all the fun, while _we’re_ sitting back here, doing absolutely nothing!”

“It really isn’t that bad,” Leliana pipes up, looking at him from where she is sitting beside Wynne, allowing the mage to heal a fracture in her wrist from the last outing.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Oghren grumbles, “but still. Warden’s out doing – well, hell if I know - and we’re cooped up in this posh sodding mansion.”

He continues to mumble and curse under his breath while Leliana looks on disapprovingly, and the only thing that seems to silence his rambling is when Sten rises to his feet. The Qunari had been kneeling by the fire, gently carding his fingers through the coarse fur of the Mabari hound that lay there. But now, as he stands, with the flickering amber light of the flame behind him, his face is half enveloped in shadow. “I am sure that whatever the Warden is doing is necessary,” he says, expressionless.

Oghren says nothing. Those who know Sten well would recognise that he is nothing to be afraid of, but that in no way diminishes his intimidating aura.

“Agreed,” Wynne says; Leliana’s healing wrist clasped between her delicate hands. “Rescuing Queen Anora from the royal estate is definitely a necessary feat, wouldn’t you say?”

“Doesn’t explain why it’s taking so sodding long though.”

 

Morrigan rolls her eyes from the corner of the room, and begins to make her way over to Oghren, tired of his impatience. Before she can say anything, however, the door swings open, and Arl Eamon races in, Anora at his side. The party members who are still seated all immediately rise to their feet – Wynne taking her time a little, and Oghren stumbling just a tad – before bowing their heads to signify their respect.

Noticing that Zevran’s eyes flicker down the Queen’s body instead of meeting her eyes, Morrigan narrows her eyes at him when he glances over at her. He simply shrugs a shoulder and winks.

“Your Majesty,” Leliana greets, a smile on her face. “You got out safely, then? Oh, thank the Maker that you are alright! It is a pleasure to see you.”

Anora bows her head. “I thank you for concern, sister, but there are much more important matters to attend to right now.”

“Queen Anora is right,” Eamon says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but during the escape, both of our Grey Wardens were confronted – and captured – by Ser Cauthrien.”

Wynne and Leliana gasp, while the others seem unfazed.

“Alistair got himself captured?” Morrigan asks, eyebrow raised. “Tis hardly surprising - he is quite the idiot. I must admit though, I am surprised that the Warden couldn’t get them out of trouble.”

Sten grunts in agreement. “This shows the severity of the attack,” he murmurs simply.

“Indeed it does,” Eamon continues. “Any ally of Loghain’s was guaranteed not to go easy on the Wardens. They are being held in a cell in Fort Drakon. We could send a whole army to rescue them if need be, but I’d rather save our forces for the darkspawn.” He moves to stand beside the fireplace, looking into the mirror than hangs on the brick wall above it. The Mabari hound sniffs at his shoes, and he reaches a hand down to scratch behind its ear without tearing his eyes from his own reflection. “I thought it best to tell you all the news first. You know the Warden best, and so you would all be much more qualified in a plan of attack than I would.”

“What Arl Eamon is trying to say,” Anora says, stepping forward from the doorframe, “is that it is up to you to decide the best course of action here. I suggest that only a small number of you go to try and get past the guards, but how you do that, and who you send, is entirely up to you.”

“We shall wait outside for your decision, but do not leave it too long. It will not take Ser Cauthrien long to inform Teryn Loghain of the Wardens’ capture, and then all we can do is hope that he will not take matters into his own hands,” Eamon sighs. He steps away from the fireplace and moves back towards the door, Anora walking alongside him. “You have an hour, maximum. If you cannot think of a suitable plan in that time, we may have to send in the troops - and a civil war is what we have been trying to avoid all along.”

“A whole army, just for two Grey Wardens?” Morrigan asks, unimpressed. “Seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Eamon nods, “but the Wardens are the only ones who can truly stop the Blight. They are our only chance.”

“I thought there was another Grey Warden? The Orlesian... down in the dungeons? We rescued him,” Leliana says.

Anora furrows her brow and turns to look at the group of people in the room. “All these excuses that you’re making, anyone would think you didn’t _want_ to rescue your team members. Regardless of what _you_ want, I am still the Queen, at least until the Landsmeet is called. And I demand that we bring Alistair and the Warden back from Fort Drakon.”

Arl Eamon bows his head again. “Precisely. Do what you must. But make sure you do _something._ Good luck.” The doors close behind them, and their footsteps can be heard echoing back down the hall.

 

The people stand there in silence for a few moments, looking at one another, waiting for someone to come forward. After a moment, Wynne sits herself back down in her chair, and the others follow suit, settling themselves on the various pieces of furniture around the room – or the floor, for those who prefer it.

“So... any ideas?” Wynne asks. “Time is of the essence here, my friends.”

“Ha! You say that like our ravishing Wardens wouldn’t break themselves out of there before an hour is up,” Zevran grins.

Leliana nods. “This is true, but we should definitely come up with a plan before Loghain decides to do something drastic.”

“Tis not Loghain I am worried about,” Morrigan murmurs, from where she has resumed her position leaning against a wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. “I am more concerned about the Warden’s sanity if the only entertainment in that cell is Alistair’s preposterous babbling.”

“Just because you and Alistair cannot see eye to eye does not mean that everyone else finds him so irritating,” Leliana points out with a frown.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow. “So you _don’t_ think that Alistair is a dim-witted fool, who most likely got them both into this mess in the first place?”

“I think you need to keep your opinions out of this, and focus on the main goal here.”

“Enough,” Wynne reasons calmly, holding up her hands. “We need to come up with a plan to rescue our leaders, and we cannot do that if we are at one another’s throats!” She fixes both Morrigan and Leliana with a glare, in turn, and then casts her gaze to the rest of the party. “Does anyone else have any ideas?”

 

“Hm,” Zevran muses, “I could come up with something. I like to think I’m pretty apt at thinking on my feet. Better at thinking on my back, don’t get me wrong.” He laughs to himself, a smirk curling on his features.

Oghren rolls his eyes. “Unless you plan on having sex with every single guard at the same time, I think you’d better get your sodding brain into gear, don’t you?”

“Don’t underestimate me, my dwarven friend,” the elf grins, “you’d be surprised. I’d offer to invite you along, but you know. More for me, this way.” Oghren’s shudder is actually visible.

 

“We are wasting time,” Sten points out.

“Agreed,” booms Shale from the corner of the room. “If we are going to rescue it from its prison, then we should surely do so quickly. Myself and the Qunari are the most powerful ones here. We should go to the cell right away and break through – crushing any squishy little creatures in our path.”

“An excellent suggestion, kadan.”

Morrigan scoffs loudly, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. You really think that the guards will let a Qunari and a giant walking stone-man through, without question? Tis a ridiculous suggestion.”

“I was not planning on giving them the option _to_ question us, swamp witch.”

Seeing Morrigan’s displeased expression, Wynne speaks up again. “Perhaps if there is no alternative, we shall consider that as an option, Shale, thank you. But let us see if there is another way, first.”

The golem grunts. “As you wish, elder mage.”

 

“I think the best solution at this point would be to infiltrate the castle using some form of disguise,” Wynne continues. “Trick the guards into letting us pass. It minimises the bloodshed on both sides, does it not?”

Leliana nods. “That is certainly the kindest way.” Wynne smiles at her gratefully, and Leliana continues. “I still have my old Chantry robes. Perhaps Morrigan and I could go as priestesses. They would let us pass with no qualms, and I can do all of the talking.”

“No, no, no,” Morrigan complains, holding up her hands defensively. “I refuse to put on Chantry robes.”

“You grew up in the sodding wilds!” Oghren grumbles, taking another swig from his tankard. “Not to mention that in your spare time, you like to switch into animal form, or whatever. I bet you’ve rolled around in a lot worse than Chantry robes.”

“I said I refuse,” she grinds out, “and that is final.”

“Then I shall go,” says Zevran. “I do not mind putting on women’s clothing. It would hardly be the first time. Of course, I am used to something a little more lacy, perhaps a little leather thrown in there, but... I can compromise.”

Wynne rolls her eyes. “I do not think you could pass as a priestess, Zevran. They could smell the sin on you.”

His mouth curls into a sly grin again. “I’m not sure if it was intended to be, but I am _definitely_ taking that as a compliment, my dear.” Wynne merely sighs. “As I was saying, I do believe I could be of use. Bluffing is an art that I have had to perfect during my time with the Crows. I think it is safe to say that I could definitely get us past the guards.”

“With what cover story, exactly?”

Oghren snorts. “He’s probably just gonna try and flirt his way through. Offer himself as a damn prostitute.”

“I like the way you think, you smelly little man,” the assassin winks.

 

“So what is the plan?” Sten asks. It sounds more like a statement than a question.

“I still think I should go. I can trick the guards fairly easily, and they are more likely to believe the priestess story than any other,” Leliana says.

“I already told you, I’m not going,” Morrigan grumbles. “Your only other option is to take Wynne, seeing as none of the others will look particularly flattering in a robe.”

“I think I’d look rather dashing, but no matter,” Zevran shrugs.

“I think I should go,” says Sten. “I am the most efficient warrior, in the event that our cover is blown.”

Wynne hums to herself. “It isn’t a bad plan. If Sten goes with either Leliana or Zevran, then we let them do the talking, and he steps in if things go awry.”

“Yes, don’t let Sten make conversation. T’will blow the whole operation, I suspect.”

“Have care how you speak, mage,” Sten says sternly, reaching behind his head to grasp the hilt of Asala.

Morrigan merely rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You know I meant no disrespect. And _I_ know that you have no intention of hurting me with your blade. Let us not play such foolish games.”

“Perhaps you should be kinder with your words in the first place,” Leliana says, standing from her chair.

“You again? Didn’t Wynne already tell you off for trying to start a fight with me?” Morrigan asks, placing her hands on her hips.

“Ladies, ladies, please.”

“No, leave ‘em,” Oghren says, sitting up a little. “This might get good.”

“You are a cruel woman, Morrigan. Has anyone ever told you?” Leliana replies, her jaw clenched in anger.

“I tell myself in the mirror every morn. A little exercise to boost morale,” the witch says, unfazed.

“Stop this, now,” pleads Wynne, voice calm, and yet so strict. “If you continue with this fighting, we shall never come up with a decent plan, and the Wardens will be lost to us.”

“I still believe my plan is the best. The Qunari and I shall rescue it,” Shale grunts.

“You would say that,” Zevran steps in. “I think my method was the best.”

“Oh, you just want an excuse to flirt with everybody!”

He grins again. “Oh, my dear, I do not need an excuse.”

The room erupts into heated debates and passive aggressive comments, rejecting one another’s suggestions and generally insulting each other.

 

* * *

 

 

The bickering continues for the best part of half an hour, before the metal doors unbolt and swing open again, silencing everyone.

“See,” Wynne sighs, “Arl Eamon has returned and we have no tactics. We have to waste soldiers because _you_ fools couldn’t simply quieten down and have a civil discussion.”

She runs a hand through her hair, taking a seat out of hopelessness, and two figures enter the room.

 

“Gosh,” Alistair says, blood splattered up and down his face and armour, “I think this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you lot. Did we miss something?”

“I-... What? I thought you were in Fort Drakon?” Morrigan asks, folding her arms.

“Oh, yeah, right. We were,” the Warden nods. “And then we weren’t. We broke out.”

“Yeah, pretty much. We figured you’d all end up arguing over who to send so... we took matters into our own hands. Quite successfully, actually,” Alistair grins, patting the Warden on the back before moving further into the room. “Now, is anyone hungry? I’m starving. Turns out prison really takes it out of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This story is set during the questline 'Captured!' (hence the story title) and is a little headcanon that I came up with the first time I played the game through.
> 
> 2\. When describing the Warden, I kept them race and gender neutral so that it can apply to any background/OC.
> 
> 3\. Hit me up on tumblr [here](http://www.peachkeeping.tumblr.com) and twitter [here](http://www.twitter.com/Dev_Riot).


End file.
